


just want to love you in my own language

by oopshidaisy



Category: Interview With the Vampire (1994), Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arguments, Declarations Of Love, Dysfunctional Relationships, Established Relationship, M/M, Monogamy, mentions of armand/daniel, switching POV, unforgivable fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 10:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17938472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopshidaisy/pseuds/oopshidaisy
Summary: 3 times Louis told Lestat he loved him and 1 time Lestat said it back





	just want to love you in my own language

**Author's Note:**

> 5+1 things is for people who have TIME on their hands, 3+1 things is where it's at for depressed university students who can't stop thinking about fictional gay vampires
> 
> this is set in a nebulous half-film, half-book universe where i just take whatever i want from either
> 
> title from '3WW' by alt-J

i.

The first time Louis says, “I love you,” Lestat throws a copy of _Interview with the Vampire_ at his head. All things considered, it’s not an entirely unreasonable response.

He says, “I’ve apologized for that,” and Lestat glares at him.

“Apologizing isn’t the same as admitting it’s slander.”

“It’s not _slander_ ,” Louis says. “There’s some slight hyperbole, perhaps.”

Lestat, flopping sulkily down onto their couch, rolls his eyes. By now, they’ve had a thousand different arguments about a hundred different things, and Louis knows better than to call him a drama queen. However tempting, it only ever makes things worse.

He tries a different approach. “Sometimes,” he says, “passion is so intense that it is easily mistaken for hatred.”

“I don’t recall you saying you hated me,” Lestat responds, because (although he’s never admitted to it) Louis knows he has the entire book committed to memory. “Only that I was an irritating waste of space who turned your death into a living nightmare.”

“I accept that I may have been excessively harsh.”

“How big of you,” Lestat says.

“Stat,” Louis says, maneuvering Lestat’s outstretched legs so that he can sit under them. Lestat lets him, which is a good sign. “I really do love you. Even if I didn’t then—although however deeply I was in denial, what I feel for you has always been—”

“Stop,” Lestat snaps. “You can’t rewrite the past.”

“Ah, of course not.” Louis smiles wryly. “Only you can do that.”

Lestat kicks his thigh in retaliation.

“You write that you love me,” Louis continues, ignoring the coiled stress of Lestat’s answering stillness. They don’t talk about this. Louis rarely brings up Lestat’s autobiography at all; it’s Lestat who prefers to drag their literary endeavors into arguments. He keeps multiple copies of _Interview_ around the house for that very purpose. “You write that you love me and yet you won’t let me say it. And you won’t say it.”

“Well,” Lestat says, “if you _must_ , I can’t stop you. But please, keep it to a minimum. I can’t stand it when you get romantic.”

And for that, Louis has to kiss him.

 

ii.

Lestat nearly says it, a lot. It’s true that it’s easier to think the words, turn them over safely in the confines of his head as he watches Louis adjust to the life they’re building together, settling foundations over the bitterness and betrayals of their past. There’s something binding about saying them out loud, and Lestat has always resisted being bound.

More than that, it’s terrifying.

The way he loves Louis—has loved Louis, since the moment he laid eyes on him and heard the cacophony of thoughts rushing through his mind—is unbearable. It feels like being burned from the inside out; it makes him want to be better and worse all at the same time; it makes him want to stay by Louis’ side and get as much distance between them as possible.

Writing them down had felt like a release, back when Louis had seemed indifferent to whether he lived or died. At that time, it had been essential for his readers to know the way he felt. It was one of his more impulsive decisions, in an afterlife primarily defined by impulsivity.

Hearing the sentiment returned from Louis is agonizing. If Louis feels even a fraction of what Lestat does, then it is more than Lestat could ever hope to deserve. His arrogance can never extend to the belief that he is anything more than a nuisance in Louis’ life.

And yet, Louis begins to say it more often. Undeterred by Lestat’s lack of reciprocation, or perhaps even spurred on by it, he slips causal _I love you_ s into their every day interactions, often in public where Lestat can’t overreact. It’s almost manipulative. Lestat feels a sort of pride mixed in with the frustration it causes.

The response is always right on the tip of his tongue. When he bites it back, Louis can smell the blood, and smiles.

 

iii.

They are not on good terms with other vampires. For one thing, Lestat has a tendency to alienate everyone he comes into contact with; for another, their relationship is, in polite terms, frowned upon. Vampires aren’t meant to mimic human monogamy to the extent that they do. Other vampires consider themselves above such things. Lestat considers them full of shit, and also resents being called monogamous.

“We are, a little bit,” Louis points out, not looking up from his book.

Lestat doesn’t pause in his pacing, reading over the email from Armand another time. He loathes whoever introduced Armand to the internet almost as much as he loathes Armand.

“It’s a meaningless word to a vampire,” Lestat insists. “We still have to consume others’ blood, and that’s—”

Louis turns a page. “You realize there’s such a thing as being _emotionally_ monogamous, Lestat?”

“Ridiculous. He’s ridiculous, _and_ he thinks we don’t know he’s keeping that interviewer of yours around as a pet. Fraternizing with a human. It’s all very _Twilight_.”

“Are there vampire gossip blogs?” Louis says. “Is that how you keep up to date on what’s going on with Armand? Or are you just stalking him?”

“He might to decide to kill us all, one day, and I’d prefer to be one step ahead of him.”

“Ah, so you admit that he _could_ kill you?”

Lestat laughs dismissively. “No, but he could kill _you_ , and when that day comes you'll be begging for my protection. It’s the oldest story in the book, jilted lover returning for revenge…”

“This is still about you being jealous of Armand? Really, Lestat.”

Lestat stops pacing, turning to eviscerate Louis with a glare. Louis stares back at him, unimpressed.

“I could not care less,” he says, enunciating each word clearly, “about whatever happened between you and Armand.”

Louis smiles at him, teeth glinting in the low light. “It’s alright, Lestat. I love you.”

Lestat snarls in wordless frustration and goes out to eat someone.

 

iv. 

It is not an unusual occurrence for Lestat to disappear for days at a time. He always returns, and such occasions ceased causing Louis anxiety long ago. Privately, he thinks of Lestat as being somewhat like a cat, prone to sudden periods of asserting his independence before he comes slinking back, demanding treats.

Lestat comes slamming through the door on Sunday, a whirlwind of energy. Louis thinks fondly on his quiet weekend.

“I am in love with you, alright, if that’s what you want to hear,” Lestat is saying before he’s even made it to the bedroom; he knows Louis can hear him, after all. Louis, somewhat occupied with the paper’s crossword (he finds it essential to appreciate the simpler things), looks up with a start.

“I’d rather know what’s brought this on,” he murmurs, hoping that by setting a comparatively low volume he might induce Lestat to join him. It has never worked before, but he lives in hope.

“I _tried_ ,” Lestat says, spots of pink on his cheeks revealing that he’s over-fed. “I tried to do the whole—” He waves his hands without any of his usual grace. “—seduction thing, with a human woman, and when she kissed me I just felt sick, so I found a man instead, and—nothing. I didn’t want them. I’m in love with you.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear it,” Louis says. Lestat still looks frantic, so he relents. “And you know I love you. You have, as always, my permission to seduce whomever you please.”

“But I don’t _want_ to,” Lestat whines.

Louis laughs to himself. “Even if your temperament were the most steadfast I had ever encountered—which it is not—I would hardly presume to hold you to a sentiment for all eternity. Even you and I could not be so cruel to one another. Now, come here. You drank too much; let me have some.”

“Mm,” Lestat hums, crawling over to him and offering his neck. “Maybe we should get married. That’d show them.”

Louis sighs, and sinks his teeth in.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you very much for reading, comments and support make my heart grow 3 sizes
> 
> twitter: [@davidfinchher](https://twitter.com/davidfinchher)  
> 


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